


Who Is The Mysterious TBG?

by Lizlemler



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Greg Lestrade, Pining Mycroft, Scheming Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-07-25 05:50:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 5,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16191368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizlemler/pseuds/Lizlemler
Summary: Mycroft knows that DI Lestrade has a major crush on someone with the initials TBG.  But he can't discover who this shadowy figure is.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These chapters will be short but fluffy and fun. I am going to try to get the whole thing done today!

Mycroft was angry.  Really angry.  Sherlock was being his usual abrasive, unhelpful self and he was fed up. After weeks of attempting, to no avail, to discover the identity of the person who had seemingly captured the heart of the man for whom he had secretly been carrying a torch for well over a year, Mycroft’s patience was nearly exhausted. 

Striving to maintain his icy composure, he made one last attempt to convince Sherlock to provide him with the information he craved.  “Take care brother mine.  I am fast running out of patience with your childish resentment.  You will provide me with the information I require or the consequences will be most severe.”

Sherlock was not impressed. Replacing his violin in its case, he turned to his older brother.  “Are you still here?  Go away Lardcroft.” Sherlock blithely swanned over to the sofa and threw himself on it.

“Enough!” Mycroft barked.  “I know you have been taking steps to keep me from meeting with DI Lestrade. You _will_ tell me why, one way or another.”

“What are you going to do, have your goons torture me?” This was said in a voice which clearly conveyed that he knew this would never happen.

“Nothing so dramatic.  There are much more subtle methods at my disposal, as you well know.”  Sherlock watched his brother closely, his demeanor less certain.  A horrible thought had occurred to Mycroft.  His voice tentative, he posited, “Perhaps your reasons are more _personal_ than I had previously considered.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Sherlock was quickly growing more defensive.

“I believe Lestrade’s decree absolute came through a few months ago.  I’m merely wondering if a happy announcement is in the offing.”  Mycroft had managed to say this casually despite his heart being lodged somewhere near the bottom of his throat.

“I think the fat has finally seeped into your brain brother dear.  You are raving.”

“And you have forgotten with whom you are dealing.  The window is closing brother mine.  You have been warned.  Tell me now or face your worst nightmare.”  Mycroft idly removed his phone from his jacket.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

“Would I not?  Mummy has been angling for a longish visit for many months.  Perhaps it is time I extend an invitation.”

Sherlock stared at his annoying brother, shocked that he would actually employ the nuclear option.  “But you would suffer far more than I.”

“Needs must, brother mine.  So.  Is this your final answer?  Or have you finally seen reason?”  He raised his phone menacingly.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg doesn't get it. He's struggling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters will not be posted in order. This one takes place some time before Chapter One, maybe two or three days.

Greg had finished his second pint before John even made it to the pub.  Today had been absolute crap and all he wanted to do was consume enough alcohol to numb his abused and lonely heart.  He knew forgetting was not an option.

As John joined him, setting two more pints on their table, he barely glanced at the greying blonde.  “Thanks,” he mumbled despondently, sliding the full pint glass close before downing half of it in seconds.

John watched him, sipping at his own cold brew, frowning.  “I take it it didn’t go well.”  The policeman closed his eyes, silently shaking his head.  “I’m sorry mate.”

Greg sat back.  “It was bad John.  I...I don’t get it.  We’ve known each other for years.  I’ve always been there for him.  For both of them.  Done whatever I could, when I could, you know?”

“I do.  Seen it with my own eyes many times.”

“Right? You’d think that would at least earn me a little good will.  Maybe a smile or two.  That’s not hoping for too much, is it?”

“They both owe you a lot more than that Greg.”

“So what is it about me John?  Why is it so easy for them to be so cruel, treat me so cavalierly?”

“I don’t know.  I stopped trying to figure them out a long time ago.” 

“Lucky you,” Greg huffed sarcastically.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock tells Mycroft what he wants to know.

Sherlock regarded the device much as he would an armed weapon of mass destruction.  Was Mycroft bluffing?  As he brought it closer and lifted his free hand, Sherlock caved.

“Fine!  You win.  Just...put that away.”

“Tell me what I wish to know first.”  Scowling, the younger Holmes chewed on his lower lip.  “Now, Sherlock.”

“Okay!  I don’t want Lestrade to refuse to work with me.  That’s why I’ve been keeping you apart.”

“Why should he cease to work with you now?”

Sherlock looked away.  “He _likes_ you.”

What?

“Explain.”

“Don’t be thick.  Lestrade has it bad for you.  Why, I cannot fathom, but there you have it.  Surely you can see why I have made it difficult for you to meet with the poor man.  You will reject him and he will not wish to have any reminders of yet another romantic failure.”


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock spills but it doesn't help much. Yet.

Mycroft stared at his brother.  He could see no evidence that Sherlock was lying.  But he knew that this wasn’t true.  Gregory Lestrade was completely besotted with someone whose initials were TBG.  He had seen the evidence with his own eyes. 

_Three weeks earlier..._

_Mycroft stared at the laptop monitor, wishing with every fiber of his being that he had resisted the urge to snoop.  He should have respected the DI’s privacy.  If he had, he would have been happily unaware of Gregory’s very tender feelings for someone completely off his radar.  Not to mention the racier variety.  Even as the British Government was consumed with irrational jealousy, he could not keep his traitorous body quiet.  Reading of the more prurient desires to which the DI had confessed affected Mycroft most profoundly.  He grimaced, ignoring his ragged breathing and accursed erection and forced himself to close the laptop and walk away._

_Thirty minutes and four cigarettes later, he threw back the remainder of his generous serving of scotch and returned to his home office, determined to discover the identity of the most fortunate creature in existence.  To what end, he did not know._

_Two weeks later he reluctantly brought his search to an end, begrudgingly admitting defeat.  He had discovered no one in Lestrade’s sphere with those initials.  Monitoring his movements closely for those two weeks had also revealed nothing.  Greg had met no one in a personal or private way, spending most of his time doing paperwork alone in his office at The Yard.  Considering that it could be someone from his past, Mycroft had referred to the dratted email again and eliminated that possibility.  The fucking thing was most definitely present tense.  That it was only an unsent draft, with no address in the To: section was cold comfort.  Knowing that there existed a being who had the power to make Greg happy, but Greg, for whatever reason, had not made his feelings known to this person made Mycroft very sad for all three of them. After the initial sting of discovery had faded, he realized that he would rather Greg be happy with the object of his affections, than alone and lonely.  He was unaccustomed to such feelings._

Mycroft blinked.  Sherlock was watching him very closely.  He slipped the phone away and stood.

“Mycroft?”  Sherlock’s voice was soft.  Uncertain.

Retrieving his umbrella, Mycroft murmured, “Thank you. I shan’t trouble you further."


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected meeting.

Greg surveyed the crime scene with a professional eye.  The body lay where it had been found by the elderly property manager. It had been well hidden in the empty factory for several days according to the forensic tech who was gathering what evidence she could.  A cursory exam had turned up a wallet with ID, credit cards and a good deal of cash.  The dead man also wore a very expensive watch, so robbery had not been the motive. 

Donovan returned from the panda car to give him an update.  “Walter Cuthbert, 42, single, no children.  Worked for the last 11 years at an insurance agency as an underwriter.  I spoke to his supervisor, Marjorie Dawes.  Apparently Cuthbert was the ideal employee until last Thursday when he didn’t show up for work.  Calls to his flat and cell went unanswered.”

Turning as he spoke, Lestrade directed Donovan to go to the man’s flat and canvass the neighbors for any info on his habits.  Just as she was preparing to go, a black town car pulled up and stopped behind the panda.  Greg’s heart began to pound as he braced himself.  “Hang on.”

“Sir?”

Staring at the back door of the car as it swung open, he murmured, “Just...keep an eye on things for a bit.  I’ll be right back.  Got a feeling we’re about to be dismissed.”  Donovan turned in time to see Mycroft Holmes emerge from the car.

She swore under her breath.  Lestrade glared at her silently.  “Yes, sir,” she huffed and turned back to the crime scene.

Steeling himself, Greg stepped over to where Mycroft stood waiting.  “Afternoon Mycroft.”  His brow creased as Mycroft looked past him.

“Inspector.”  He seemed distracted.  Pensive.

When the government man said nothing more, Greg speculated aloud. “National security?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Greg waited for more.  He was disappointed.  His voice had an edge to it when he inquired, “Anything else?”

Mycroft’s gaze flicked to him and away again.  He looked down at his posh shoes.  “Not at this time.”

“Right.  I’ll round em up then.”  As he turned to go, Mycroft spoke.

“Gregory?”

Greg’s breath caught.  He’d sounded so plaintive.  “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

The DI’s eyebrows rose.  That had never happened before.   “Can’t be helped, right?” he replied softly.  “If it wasn’t you, someone else would be here giving us our marching orders, yeah?”

Mycroft’s “smile” was wry.  “I daresay."  After a few moments, he looked directly at the older man.  "I just wanted _you_ to know....sometimes...I wish it _wasn’t_ me.”


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A missed opportunity and hurt feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place the day before John meets Greg at the pub.

Greg was an absolute idiot.  A Grade A, prime choice simpleton.  He didn’t know what he’d been thinking, trying to contact Mycroft Holmes.  He was a very busy, very important man and had no time to spare for the likes of him.  He didn’t expect any special treatment really, but had thought that helping to keep Sherlock occupied and off drugs would at least earn some sort of response to his inquiry.  He’d thought they’d got on well recently, even bonded a little over their shared concern for the consulting detective.  Surely an invitation to join him for dinner was not overstepping.  Now he knew he’d been wrong on all counts.

With no one to turn to, he poured his heart out in a second unsent email, bemoaning this cruel treatment.  He knew it would never be sent, never be read by the man who had inspired it.  It was merely an outlet for his hurt feelings.

                                                                     **************

Mycroft was exhausted.  He’d only just returned from Asia and had little time to rest before the debriefing in the morning.  He collapsed on his bed and was asleep in a trice.  The message from DI Lestrade, which had not gone through Anthea as she had accompanied him, was lost to history.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg has a good morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place after Mycroft met Greg at the crime scene.

It took a while for Greg to settle after his encounter with Mycroft. ONE kind word from that ginger White Buffalo and he was done.  He was meant to be completing paperwork but his head was in the clouds.  Somehow he managed to get some work done.  Hours later, he walked home, picking up some Thai for dinner.  He imagined that he was getting dinner for both of them, that Mycroft was joining him.  As he ate, he thought about what they might talk about.  His musings continued all evening until he dropped off to sleep. 

                                                                                  *********

Mycroft was a fool.  Gregory had been right there, standing in front of him, clearly not happy that the case was being taken from his team, but bearing him no ill will over it.  His voice had been soft, his words understanding.  He could have offered more than that pathetic apology.   He longed to invite the man to join him for drinks, perhaps share a simple meal at his club.  He had not been able to summon the courage.  He could not stop thinking of that heartfelt email written for another.

                                                                                 **********

Greg awoke, a smile on his lips.  He had had a most pleasant dream about sharing a quiet evening with Mycroft, enjoying some good scotch and a light meal.  Their conversation had been engaging and a bit flirty.  He had been caught staring at Mycroft’s mouth, which had then quirked playfully as they shared a final nightcap. 

As he began his day, he found that the brief interlude the day before gave him a little hope that maybe Mycroft didn’t just see him as a convenient buffer between Sherlock and the world at large.  He was surprised at how much better that made him feel.  Up till now, he viewed his attraction to the elder Holmes brother as extremely foolish, serving only to heighten his loneliness.  It didn’t seem as pointless now.  Not that he had more confidence that he actually stood a chance with the genius. He didn't even know if Mycroft was single.  Or if he liked men.  As he made his way to The Yard he realized that these feelings were a good thing, certainly better than those times when there was no one he liked in that way.  Better than the last years of his failed marriage by far.  He understood now that even if his crush went nowhere, that was okay.  It was something to cherish and nothing to be embarrassed about. 


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is torn, but not unkind.

Sherlock was troubled.  He had noticed the changing dynamic between his DI and Mycroft months ago.  He had been secure for a while, knowing that Mycroft was oblivious to Lestrade’s increasing attraction to him.  He’d felt it was kinder to say nothing to either, believing that Mycroft would not return those feelings.  In time, Lestrade would move on and Sherlock’s stream of cases would continue unabated.

Now he had to concede that he may have been mistaken about both.  Remaining in the shadows of a convenient alley by the crime scene, he’d witnessed the brief exchange between the two.  Mycroft was not unaffected by the DI and Lestrade’s feelings for his brother had not only not abated, they seemed to have grown considerably.

He was conflicted.  Working with Lestrade was not just a convenient way to alleviate the boredom.  The work was crucial to maintaining his sanity.  If something jeopardized his ability to consult for The Yard, the balance he’d finally achieved would be considerably more difficult to sustain.  He did not want to meddle, nor did he wish to stop them from exploring the possibility of being more than acquaintances.  Perhaps he should bring his concerns to John.


	9. Chapter Nine

Mycroft was rarely unsure of what to do in any given situation. From a young age, he’d been aware that he was capable of analyzing facts and data rapidly, reviewing potential responses and determining the most prudent and sensible way forward, oftentimes in a matter of seconds. As he grew into his majority, he honed and perfected this ability, leading him swiftly to his current position within the British government. At the moment however, he was completely at a loss. He could hardly credit what he had now read in its entirety five times. His mind was a blank as he tried to tear his gaze from the laptop monitor.

Gregory had poured his broken heart out in a second unsent email, apparently immediately after extending an invitation to dinner which had been heartlessly ignored. Slowly he became aware that he was in a towering rage. How _dare_ they? Whoever this misbegotten creature was, how DARE they reject Lestrade so cavalierly? This was wholly unsupportable. This could not be allowed to continue. He must discover this wretch and “help” them to see the error of their ways.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected development.

Greg was kinda freakin out.  He’d been diligently working through the pile of paperwork in his inbox, determined to have everything in on time for once, when the door to his office opened without a sound.  Looking up, he was a bit alarmed to see Mycroft’s formidable PA framed in the doorway. 

“Good evening, Detective Inspector.”

“Is it?”  He responded without thinking.  When his brain caught up, he continued.  “Sorry.  I’ve been stuck here for hours.  Is it a good evening?”

“It can be,” the woman replied, “if you wish for it to be,” she added enigmatically.

“Yeah?” He said, feeling a bit dazed.  “I’m all ears”

Stepping inside the office and into the light, Anthea glanced at the forms on his desk.  “How long before you’re done here?”

Rubbing his eyes tiredly he shrugged a shoulder.  “Maybe half an hour,” he decided somewhat arbitrarily, thinking that the paperwork was never really done.

Anthea heard the subtle sarcasm.  “Thank you for skipping the cheeky response.  I will meet you downstairs in 35 minutes,” she intoned, pulling her phone out and turning away.

Greg watched her go, blearily thinking he probably should have asked what was happening.

Forty five minutes later, he swallowed convulsively as Anthea escorted him into a very nice hotel.  


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft makes a move.

Mycroft watched from across the lobby of the nice hotel as DI Lestrade was escorted to the bank of lifts.  This gambit was risky.  He was unsure of the outcome.  Glancing at his phone, he waited ten minutes before proceeding to the suite he’d reserved.

Meanwhile, Greg nervously composed a delicate and compassionate rejection should he have need of one in the very near future.  Anthea was a stunning woman and he was by no means blind to that fact.  But he could think of no quicker way to wind up on Mycroft’s shit list except to deliberately ruin Sherlock’s sobriety.

Fortunately, he was in luck.  Anthea let them into a tastefully decorated room and immediately headed for the ensuite.  She opened the door and flicked the light on but did not step inside.  “I trust 30 minutes is enough time for you to shower and shave?”

Glancing inside, he saw a counter full of personal care products.  “Okay, you wanna tell me what this is all about now?”

She merely smirked at him.  “You’ve chosen an interesting time to get curious.”  When he waited for an answer, she relented.  “Dinner, 30 minutes, the Ponsonby Suite.  You’ll find a change of clothes in the wardrobe.  Don’t be late Inspector.”


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback to that first meeting/kidnapping.

Twenty eight minutes later, a nervous but hopeful Detective Inspector stepped off the elevator onto the fifteenth floor.  After showering and shaving, he’d taken a few minutes to try to settle his somewhat chaotic thoughts.  Wandering into the main room with a towel wrapped around his hips, he happily discovered a well-stocked mini bar and promptly made himself a strongish vodka tonic.  Retrieving his phone from the ensuite, he opened a new tab to the hotel’s website.  He found that looking at pictures of the suite to which he’d been directed helped to calm his jangling nerves.  While he could not be certain, he was reasonably sure that Mycroft would be there, had organized all this.

He had ample reason to believe this.  Over the years he’d been brought to several locations where the elder Holmes brother awaited him.  What he didn’t know was why here and why now.  Previous meetings had been predominantly brief and perfunctory, initially designed to intimidate, then to “persuade”.  Mycroft had tried to bribe him in the beginning, claiming that concern for his drug addicted brother was the motive.  While Greg had been offended on principal, he’d seen through the trappings of shadowy power, subtle threats and vague references to his shaky finances. 

He’d only known Sherlock Holmes for about three weeks when the first “kidnapping” had occurred.  Instinctively Greg had felt that he was in no danger from the mysterious figure half hidden in the shadows of an empty parking garage.  Sherlock had warned him that something of this nature was likely.  When the unmarked black car had finally materialized, he went willingly, more than a little intrigued by the unconventional tactic.  He’d calmly listened to the offer of monetary assistance in exchange for information on the whereabouts and activities of Sherlock Holmes.

After carefully considering his response, he replied, “As a member of the Metropolitan Police, I cannot accept.  Because Sherlock is a private citizen, I don’t believe that your offer strictly constitutes attempted bribery of a police officer, but I think we’re in a grey area here.  Better to err on the side of caution Mr. Holmes.  But,” he added cheekily, “at least I don’t have to arrest you now.”

In spite of the lack of adequate illumination, he knew his answer had both surprised and provoked his interlocutor.  After a few moments, the well-dressed man had stepped forward, his eyes revealing a subtle appreciation.  “Very good, Detective Inspector.  Please accept my apologies for the implication that you might be so easily compromised.”


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tad more history before we return to the present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for hanging in there everybody. This is as drabbly as I get but it still needs to be "fleshed out", as it were. I'll TRY to make good on that deliberate pun/play on words soon, I promise.

Accepting his apology, Greg had gently probed a bit and Mycroft had reluctantly admitted that Sherlock resisted his offers of help and resented what he characterized as meddling.  “But I can’t just stand by and watch him self destruct.  Even if he hates me for it, I’ll keep trying.” 

Greg had understood, knowing well the anguish of family members who often were helpless in the face of another's addiction.  He’d agreed to let Mycroft know when Sherlock was maybe heading for trouble.  But he’d made it clear that he couldn’t accept more than an occasional cup of coffee or the like as a thank you.  Then he’d gone further.  “Maybe I can help.”

Two days later he made Sherlock an offer he couldn’t refuse:  accept treatment, get clean and Greg would let him assist with the more difficult cases that came across his desk.  He’d been honest about his meeting with Mycroft and encouraged Sherlock to let his brother help.  It wasn’t part of their deal though.  “But that’s your decision.  I told your brother that I won’t be his spy.  Your life is your own Sherlock.”

The shared interest in Sherlock’s well being had led to the older men becoming a bit closer, but there had always been unspoken boundaries. Greg was aware from the start that the other man’s claims of being a civil servant with a “minor position in the British Government” were shite.  Hearing Sherlock refer to his annoying older brother as The British Government had stuck and Greg’s curiosity grew.  Years later, when Sherlock had his new flatmate and Greg’s marriage was on the rocks, he’d had to admit to himself that this innocent interest had morphed and grown.  He’d wished there might be a chance for more but Mycroft’s obvious power and position were enough to stop him from ever doing anything about it.

And so it had gone for another few years until Sherlock had asked him to look after Mycroft. 


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg goes to The Ponsonby Suite. Will Mycroft be there?

Greg knocked on the door to the posh suite a bit timidly precisely at the appointed hour.  He waited, his heart thumping raucously, holding his breath.  Moments later, the door swung open to reveal Mycroft, resplendent in a dark blue and grey plaid suit, paired with a truly decadent looking midnight blue waistcoat, pale grey shirt and medium grey tie that looked soft enough to eat.  

“Inspector, thank you so much for joining me.  Please, come in.”  He stepped back, opening the door wide. 

Swallowing hard, Greg crossed the threshold and stepped into the tastefully decorated lounge.  Glancing around nervously, he noted the comfortable furnishings and subdued lighting, his thoughts a jumble.  Hearing the door close softly, he turned to face Mycroft, with not the slightest notion what to do or say.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.”  Mycroft gestured to the sofa.  As Greg wordlessly maneuvered to one end of the plush furnishing, Mycroft stepped to the wet bar.  “I’m having a Scotch.  What can I get for you?”

Clearing his throat, Greg said, “The same, thanks.”   As he waited for the younger man to join him, he strove to settle his scattered thoughts and turbulent emotions.  Mycroft was a very busy and important man and would no doubt get to the reason for all this soon enough.  _Enjoy it while you can Lestrade, whatever this is._

“Ta.” Taking the heavy tumbler, he savored the first sip gratefully, giving Mycroft a few moments to settle himself on an armchair perpendicular to the sofa, just to the right of where Greg was sitting.  Doing his best to appear calm and collected and not freaking out in any way as the lanky genius crossed his legs and sat back, drink in hand, Greg forced himself to breathe normally and NOT STARE at those lean, long legs. Instead he focused on his drink, taking a bigger swallow this time.  It was a gorgeous single malt and as long as it was on offer, he didn’t mind accepting.

“I’m sure you’re curious about why I’ve arranged this meeting.”

“Curious about why you had Anthea bring me to a posh hotel, provide me with a suit that costs more than I make in a month and now ply me with delicious Scotch?  Yeah, you could say I’m curious.”

He was relieved and delighted to see those soft lips twitch.  “I apologize for the lack of advanced warning Detective Inspector.  I realize of course that this is all rather...unorthodox.”  He waited until Greg brought the glass to his lips to add, “And _that_ suit costs more than you make in _three_ months.”  He graciously refrained from snickering when Greg choked on the smoky liquid.

Recovering, Greg fixed him with a muted glare.  “If anyone else said that to me, I’d think they were taking the piss.”  Mycroft merely sipped his Scotch and glanced at the shoes on Greg’s feet _appraisingly._

_Christ._ “Okay, NOT asking about the shoes.”

“Wise as ever, Detective Inspector.”

“Okay, Mycroft, I’ll bite, why am I here wearing clothes AND SHOES I could never afford to buy?”


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot (what plot?) thickens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry (not sorry) for this bit of "distraction". I just felt that Mycroft would make the whole thing a bit more....confusing? fraught? complicated? mysterious? He'd give himself some kind of cover, you know?

The statesman studied him silently, as if attempting to determine something.  Greg waited, outwardly calm (but only outwardly), drawing on decades of experience as a skilled interrogator, giving away nothing of his now elevated sense of possible jeopardy .  Finally, Mycroft offered an explanation of sorts.  “Before I can provide any details, I must first apologize for involving you with no prior warning.  It was regrettably unavoidable.”

In spite of himself, Greg was intrigued.  “Apology accepted.”

“Thank you.  Next, I must emphasize the highly classified nature of what I am about to impart to you.  I trust you have by now thoroughly acquainted yourself with all the terms and conditions of the documents you signed some years ago in order to be awarded a Top Secret security clearance.”

“Every word.  Go on.”

“I have a private meeting arranged with a personage of some interest to the British nation in one hour.  I regret that I cannot provide more detail.  All I can say is that the nature of this meeting is extremely delicate.  The individuals I would normally have at my disposal to provide discreet security are either unsuitable or currently unavailable.”

Greg hoped that the disappointment he felt was not discernable.  He affected mild skepticism. “You need me to be your bodyguard?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

The subtly ambiguous answer caught the copper’s attention.  “There’s more.”

Mycroft acknowledged his prescience.  “I knew you were the right man for this assignment.  There is more.  The individual in question has certain...weaknesses.  It is necessary for me to take advantage of them.”

“Weaknesses,” Greg repeated.

Mycroft uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “May I be blunt Greg?”

“Please.”  Greg’s nerve endings were practically vibrating now.  The British Government was maddeningly close and Greg’s senses were flooded with the man’s scent.  The use of his first name, something he couldn’t recall the younger man doing before, had set loose a swarm of butterflies that were threatening to literally transform him into a blushing thirteen year old girl.

“Your presence will be very distracting.”

What? The rushing sound that flooded his hearing was distracting too.  Frowning a little, Greg found himself staring at Mycroft’s mouth.  Then he made the questionable decision to take a deep breath before murmuring, “Oh?  To whom?”

Coloring a little, his own eyes reflecting some confusion, Mycroft rushed to add, “To the person I am meeting.”

It took Greg several moments to settle himself enough to decipher this pronouncement.  “Ah.  So, you _want_ me to be distracting.”

“In a nutshell, yes.”

He blinked.  He had to ask.  “How distracting?”


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft meets someone new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've re-posted this chapter with just a few small but key changes. I think it works a little better now. Also, the rating has been bumped up to mature. There's no adult content yet but we are heading in that direction.

For as long as he lived, Greg knew he’d think of the next twenty minutes as simultaneously some the best and worst of his life.  Instead of attempting to describe what he wished for Greg to do, Mycroft demonstrated. In detail.  The policeman watched in near shock as the person known as The Iceman transformed before his eyes.  The polite, slightly stilted social veneer vanished to be replaced instantly with a suave, alluring self-assurance. Barely breathing, Greg sat pinned in place as Mycroft, but not Mycroft, leaned back a bit, his eyes traveling the older man’s form and face appreciatively.  As their eyes met again, Greg knew his inability to comprehend what he was seeing was easily recognized.  The slight grin that had materialized as if by some heady spell deepened and morphed into a smirk that held just a hint of smugness.  Greg had no choice but to watch, gob smacked as this new Mycroft seemed to glide out of his chair and across the room. 

 _“What sorcery is this_?” he whispered to himself, his mouth now bone dry as this stranger’s entire body screamed ‘I know you want me’.

Soon, Greg found himself the focus of those clever, discerning greyish blue eyes as the younger man ambled slowly back from the sidebar, bearing the bottle of Scotch. He did not return to the armchair though.  No, he did not.  Instead he slowly lowered himself to sit close to the DI, torso twisted to face his companion, holding the bottle up in a silent query.  Greg held his empty glass up, mute and unable to remove his gaze from this hypnotic apparition.  After pouring a small measure, Mycroft placed the bottle on the coffee table. Turning his attention back to the policeman, he purred, “I don’t think I told you yet how good you look in that suit Gregory.”

All remaining coherent thought dribbled out of Greg’s ears and he barely managed a stammered “Th-thank you.”

“It seems to be an excellent fit.” The redhead trailed the fingers of his right hand lightly down from Greg’s shoulder, gently curling them around his bicep to give it a little squeeze. “You’re sure it’s not too...snug?”  Greg could only shake his head weakly.  Those long slender digits resumed their course down Greg’s arm until the tips of Mycroft’s fingers rested on the pulse point in his wrist.  “Do you trust me Greg?”

“Yes,” he breathed, realizing it was true in that moment.

Something flashed in the now dark grey eyes fleetingly.  Before Greg could react, Mycroft continued.  “Good.  Take a sip of your drink.”  The veteran copper complied immediately, allowing the tumbler to be removed from his grasp and set aside.  “Now.  Close your eyes please.”  He hesitated only briefly but did as he was bid, knowing he had nothing to fear from the government man.

 


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft makes a request and Greg agrees.

“Please listen carefully. We haven’t much time.  Do you have any experience with hypnosis?”

“A little.  Helped me quit smoking once years ago.  Worked for almost six months.”

“Excellent.  I’d like your permission to place a simple suggestion in your subconscious.  This will involve merely relaxing and listening to the sound of my voice.  I will also tap you on your wrist at certain intervals.”

After a few confused moments, Greg asked, “What suggestion?”

“The behaviour, the...attitude I’ve just demonstrated for you is learned, like all behaviour.  It took me over a year to perfect what you must absorb in the next 20 minutes.  The suggestion I wish to place will enable you to act similarly, without conscious thought or hesitation.  May I proceed?”

Even though he knew the basic concept, Greg had one concern.  “Will I, um...,”

“No.  Even under hypnosis, you cannot be manipulated into doing anything you wouldn’t otherwise do. You will remain conscious the entire time.”

Greg nodded.  “Got it.  But...do you really think this can work?  I mean...you were like a completely different person Mycroft.”  


“I’m confident that you will absorb the input sufficiently for the purpose of this meeting.  I should say, you won’t need to be anywhere near as...forward as I was just now.  We are aiming for something a bit more subtle.”

The slight anxiety Greg was feeling eased tremendously.  “I think I understand.”  He took a deep breath.  “Okay, I’m game.”

“Very well.  First, are you comfortable as you are?”

“Sort of.  Can I take the jacket off for now?”

“Certainly.  I will prepare the room a bit more.  If you prefer to find a focus rather than keeping your eyes closed, that’s also completely fine.”

As Mycroft turned off all but the dim lamp at the other end of the sofa, Greg stood and stretched his slightly stiff muscles.  He hadn’t realized how tense he was.  He gently placed the jacket on the armchair Mycroft had used.  As he settled on the sofa again, he kept his breathing even and his body relaxed, focusing on the dark liquid in the tumbler still on the coffee table. Mycroft returned to the sofa but sat a bit further away.

“Before we begin, please choose a word or phrase that will signal a return to full autonomy.”

“Arsenal FC.”

There was a slight pause before Mycroft continued.  “Tell me what you remember about the last time you were hypnotized.”

“I was asked to think of a place where I felt safe and happy.”

“Good.  Perhaps you’d like to think of that same place now.  Or maybe there is another place and time you might choose to think of instead when you felt perfectly relaxed.  Recall whatever details you wish.  Was it during the summer, or fall? You may have been alone or perhaps there were others with you.  And because you know that this has helped you to quit smoking in the past, you know it’s going to work now, too, don’t you?”


End file.
